The Thief Who Couldn't Sleep (Lawrence Block, 1966)

Unusual globetrotting espionage/adventure. Not the biggest fan of those genres myself, so at least I'm assuming it's a bit unusual to have a protagonist who cannot sleep (so he learns languages and manically reads) and writes other people's master thesis for a living.

On one of these job assignments, he comes across an old Armenian woman and over a few cups of coffee (Armenian coffee: hot as hell, black as sin, and sweet as love), she unveils to him the long-lost secret of gold that Armenian people had stashed away during the Turkish massacre during the WWI. In no time at all, Tanner decides that many of the freakish societies across the world (whose member he is) could benefit from some big ass donations. So he promptly applies for the passport and sets out for the treasure hunt.

Sounds much more conventional than it actually is. You see, our hero starts six international incidents, is hunted by several states' secret police and a few sinister organisations ("I know you're hotter than a grenade with the pin out") in a chase that begins in Ireland, goes all the way southeast through Europe to Bulgaria and ends in Lebanon. Along the way, Tanner fucks a couple of hot girls, runs into a bunch of odd (even by his high standard of oddness) characters, sparks a minor revolution attempt in Macedonia and somehow obtains complete dossier of the British air and coastal defenses (which btw cannot be very strong since the whole thing is pretty thin). When taking into account that this paperback is 200 pages long, it actually feels like it was written by some madman on amphetamines (who couldn't sleep?)

But it's not bad at all. It's funny and I liked the fact that it didn't take itself seriously at all. Tanner in no way tries to emulate the James Bond type of agent. Cold war doesn't play no role here (I don't think this term was ever mentioned) and his goals are pretty modest as he certainly doesn't try to prevent some shit like nuclear attack or WW3 - turns out that his loot was worth mere $371,520 (according to this website this would amount to 2.6 million today). Also worth mentioning is that Block doesn't mock exotic (by American standards, I guess) countries and bore us (and maybe himself too) with American patriotism. He actually did his research pretty thoroughly, and we learn an interesting fact or two about those "exotic" places (though I think he exaggerated a bit about Irish hospitality).

Silly, charming nonsense. I guess it still qualifies as a cosy crime, but I liked it better than Block's silly Bernie Rhodenbarr crap. But I don't think I'll check anything else from the Tanner series. Unless you can recommend a good one?

3/5

Facts:

Hero:
Evan Michael Tanner or Ivan Mikhail Tanner, according to Radio Moscow

Location:
Turkey, Ireland (from Shannon airport to Limerick to a nearby village Croon to Dublin), Madrid, Grenoble, Italy (Venice, Udine), Yugoslavia (Ljubljana, Zagreb, Belgrade, Tetovo), Sofia, Balikesir and then 800 miles two day drive to the southeast town of Antakya, crossing Syria and finishing in Lebanon and then flying (finally!) back to Washington.

Body count: 
One secret agent + many casualties of the Macedonian revolution

Dames:
Nora, an Irish gal + Annalya, a Macedonian woman. Tanner fucks them both. Nora is simply lonely (who wouldn't be in Croom?) and horny, but Annalya has deeper reasons for seducing our hero. When she comes, she ecstatically yells: "A son! Give me a son for Macedonia!" Hilarious stuff, we need more horny revolutionaries!

Blackouts: 
Nope, not even sure if a guy who cannot sleep can black out. But there was a scene where Tanner pretended to be unconscious when a double-crossing bastard of the Society of the Left Hand struck him with a tire wrench.

Title: 
No nuclear physics required to decipher this one: Tanner is a thief, and he cannot sleep.

Cover: 
Pretty standard and not very imaginative one. Cannot figure out what that green shit in the background is.

First time on this blog: 
My hometown, Ljubljana in Slovenia, is mentioned. Which is cool, but even cooler is that it also takes place in Dublin, where I live these days.

Cool lines:
Some pretty bizarre (and funny?) insults from the prison guard, Mustafa. Looks like this asshole has some sort of animalistic Oedipus complex:

- Your mother loves to perform fellatio upon syphilitic dogs.[The Coolest!]

- Your mother spreads herself for camels.
- Your mother was blinded by gonorrhea.

The Late Mrs. Five (Richard Wormser, 1960)

I found this paperback in a one-euro bin at a flea market, liked the cover, and decided to give it a try. I had never heard of Richard Wormser before, so I didn't expect much, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Not at the start, though. It begins as a pretty formulaic tale of a wrongly accused man being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not my cup of tea, these kinds of stories, especially when they take place in some suburban/rural surroundings and when the main protagonist is a travelling salesman. Of course sometimes exception does prove the rule but this one just didn't promise much because the whole plot was based on same pretty incredible coincidence: our hero's ex-wife was killed on the same day when he had arrived to this small town and he didn't even know that she had remarried and moved into that very same small town. You can calculate the odds of this happening yourself...

It soon turns into a manhunt thriller (only logical turn with such a premise), but then it suddenly becomes quite good and interesting. The thing is that only a handful of characters are introduced, and usually this means that it's going to be very easy to pick up our whodunnit guy. But here, our prime "bad guy" candidate, Mac, becomes quite likeable towards the end, and the lawyer, Lighton - "the good guy" - turns into a greedy bastard (Andy even says that he's like Mephisto in Faust). I'm not saying that this is some heavy shit character study, but things (people) are definitely not simply black and white.

Cool stuff. Just like they did it in the good 'ol days - sweet and short and well written (although I did miss some humour and a snappy line or two)!

3/5

Facts:

Hero:
My name is Paul Porter, I'm vice-president in charge of marketing for Hydrol Machines Inc., a Chicago firm.

Location: 
Lowndesburg in Lowndes Valley near Chicago. But it's probably an imaginary town since Google Maps has no idea about it.

Body count: 

2

Dames: 
Edith Stayne Porter Hilliard aka Mrs. Five - Paul's ex-wife - "She had been, and in my memory she still was, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen". There's also Andy, a local girl who quickly becomes Paul's new flame.

Blackouts: 
Nope, I can't think of a single one. Which is a bit odd considering all the shit Paul had gone through.

Title: 
Pretty straightforward (but still cool sounding) - Mrs. Five was killed, and now she's late, Mrs. Five.

Cover: 
Very nice illustration of a hot redhead. I assume she's the late Mrs. Five because "She had the most beautiful legs I've ever seen. And a face that made you dream of a woman without guile, malice or greed. ...It almost surprised you that she had to eat, like other mortals."

Cool lines:  
"Where do you cops get your talk?" I asked. "Is there a course in police school on how to talk tough?"

The Wrong Quarry (Max Allan Collins, 2014)

New Quarry novel is always guaranteed fun, but this time it was even more so after going through those two Izzo's books. Ridiculous as it sounds, but even silly shit like the one quoted below was hilarious after those 500+ pages of philosophy and food recipes:

I slid in across of her. "Hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Just long enough to order us a bottle of Chablis. I know you're not supposed to drink red wine with Italian food, but that shit gives me a headache."

*** Warning - spoilers ahead! ***

But it's not very good, I'm sorry to say, at least not compared to some of the other titles of the series. As usual, there are two parts: killing the assassins and discovering the mystery about who ordered the hit. The first part is just too routinely executed. Both in terms of the writing and Quarry's actions. A bit dull and not too imaginative. While this can be overlooked for the killing of the first assassin, who is a boring antique dealer, it's very disappointing that the asshole torturer's (a guy whose definition of Iron Maiden wasn't a heavy metal band) demise is so swift. Especially after some pretty cool build-up to it. Also, everything takes a bit longer to take off.

Second, the detective investigation type part is a mixed bag. It has some good moments (I didn't see Sally's involvement coming at all), but overall it's pretty unconvincing. I mean, Quarry is just not a detective, and I felt a little sorry for a guy walking around this small town pretending to be a newspaper reporter and asking some lame questions. The lowest point of the book is the entire 9th chapter in which our hero goes to a parent-teacher meeting where he interviews a bunch of locals. Horrified to say this, but it almost felt like some AC's Poirot/Marple kind of crap...

But still, it's Quarry and it's fun and it's good to see that Mr. Collins still finds time for his amoral anti-hero.

3/5

Facts:

Hero:
Quarry. In this one, he doesn't even use some other fake name.

Location:
Imaginary (I think) town Stockwell in Missouri that used to be "buggy whip capitol of America". Owned and ran by Stockwell family. We are back in the early 80s when "Reagan hadn't been president long enough for his senility to show (much), and everybody was hurting from the recessions."

Body count: 
4 in the present, 24 in the past

Dames:
Mustang Sally - "Petite but curvy, the kind of cheerleader they reserve for the top of the pyramid." Jenny, the black sheep of the Stockwell family - "One fucked-up dangerous, damn piece of ass." [Fatale]

Blackouts: 
Quarry gets beaten by some jealous gigantic footballer (like Moose in the Archie comics, but cartoonier). But just before passing out, he manages to kick him hard in the knee and wishes him "good luck with your scholarship, jackass!" Auch! Nasty, but nice one, Quarry ;)

Title: 
Quarry is a bit manipulated, so his initial quarry is the wrong one. No worries, though, he makes things right at the end.

Cover: 
Another cool one by Max Phillips. It depicts a scene from the final shoot-out, and it's pretty accurate, although Mr. Phillips has allowed himself a bit of artistic freedom: Sally should be gagged by an SM kind of ball gag, and Quarry hadn't had time to draw his gun when he discovered her.

Cool lines:  
We were bonding now - he had said "shit" in front of me and everything.

"What do you mean, exactly... torture?"
I gave him few examples.
"Jesus Christ," he gasped.
"Actually, he did crucify a guy once. Priest who diddled a choir boy who was a mobster's nephew."

His face went white, or as white as the phony tan would allow.

Fifteen minutes passed and they couldn't have seemed longer at an art movie with no nude scenes.[The Coolest!]


"I can't argue with that. Wouldn't be the first time a shrewd killer got away with murder."
And I couldn't argue with that.

Chourmo (Jean-Claude Izzo, 1996)

Let's simply call Chourmo Total Chaos part 2, as it just carries on from where the first one of the Marseilles trilogy has ended. Okay, it's been a year later, and Fabio is no longer a cop, but everything else has pretty much remained the same. Including, unfortunately, crazy storytelling and incomprehensible plotting. And this time around, it just wasn't much fun to read.

Two stories: Fabio's cousin's teenage kid gets killed, and as soon as our ex-cop starts his investigation, his old friend Serge is gunned down right in front of his eyes. Pretty soon, the mafia gets involved, and this time, also some Arab militants. I'm still not sure how these two sub-plots are related, but the revelation of the first case is so ridiculous that it gives words "coincidence" and "twist" whole new meanings.

But anyways, Fabio is (a) so full of hatred that he doesn't go to the police because he wants to kill monsters responsible himself and (b) so full of other strong emotions that he feels the need to explain his view of life, philosophy, leftist politics, arts, etc. Again and again. Together, of course, with the complete history of Marseilles, countless food recipes and wine recommendations. And again and again. Plus, a recapitulation of his lost friendships and love affairs.

It's fucking relentless, this shit never stops. All this mess and lack of direction is quite illustrative in the final "action" scene where Fabio deals with the two assholes who had killed the poor little kid. Instead of (for example) shooting them from some kind of ambush, he lures them into a car chase. Huh? They are hard-core mafia hit men, but still, "My whole plan depended on their making a mistake. A mistake I hoped would be fatal." So now they are driving in the middle of the night like crazy on the narrow hill roads, and those two assholes are shooting at our hero, and guess with what kind of shit he occupies his thoughts? Well, it's food, of course! Obviously, the first thing that comes to mind when being chased by the mafia killers is poutargue or spaghetti matriciana with red Tempier from Bandol. Or bean soup together with toast, drizzled with olive oil. Or maybe stew with marinated meat... And if all this crap wasn't bad enough, let me just finish this by pointing out that he listens to ZZ Top during this ordeal (The only rock band I liked. I needed them.) ZZ fucking Top!?!? Fabio, a couple of hints: in 1996, Sepultura's Roots and Pantera's Great Southern Trendkill came out!

I understand, of course, that it is character-driven, with Marseilles once again being a character of its own, but it just didn't work for me. Maybe because, after reading the first book, it wasn't so fresh and exciting anymore or maybe because our leading man was still pretty dull and a bit of a sissy (btw closing lines are: "That's when I started to cry. God, it felt good.") But mostly I resented total neglect of any creditable storytelling. There are so many distractions that it seems everything else was more important to the author than to maintain the story at least remotely plausible. Still good in its way and (and for the most part) engaging writing, but Mr. Izzo had chosen the wrong genre for this one. Some heavy shit existential drama would be more appropriate...

2.5/5

Facts:

Hero:
Fabio Montale, ex-cop

Location:
Marseilles

Body count: 

8

Dames:
His cousin Claudia Cardinale look-alike Gelou (Mature woman, in full blown. The way I like them.) and beautiful and a bit mysterious Vietnamese femme fatale Cuc.

Blackouts: 
After the car chase, he's so exhausted that he passes out. Although not before having a chat with the cops and smoking two cigarettes.

Title: 
Chourmo, a Provencal word derived from chiourme, the rowers in a galley....The fan club of Massilia Sound System, the craziest bunch of kids around, had taken over the expression... not so much a fan club as a friendship club... 

Cover:
Picture of a bay in Marseilles? Credited to Emanuele Ragnisco.

Cool lines:  
He was sweating profusely. He stank of death. Shit and death. The two things his life had consisted of. [The Coolest!]

Robbie's Wife (Russell Hill, 2007)

Not much to say about this one. An old American screenplay writer goes to the rural UK countryside in search of muses that would help him create his next masterpiece and put him back on the Hollywood map. He finds one, or better to say, one and THE only one in a shape and form of Maggie, wife of the farmer and B&B owner, where Jack wonders by chance one night. Obviously, the poor lad's name is Robbie.

Jack falls madly in love with Maggie, and from there on, you don't need much of an imagination to guess where this thing will go. And it's all about pure LOVE and not much about passion, fucking or even about good old money scheming. No deadly sins here, to which we are used in our crime books. To summarise:

"You know that I've fallen in love with you."
"Yes, I know that. And when I'm around you it's as if my nerves are exposed, as if my skin is raw and if you were to come closer to me my body would betray me."

Still, at the beginning, it was all right. Jack was introduced as a bit of an unstable character, and I thought that he would eventually go really fucking mental. I could see lots of possibilities by simply turning him into an ageing Clint Eastwood-type bad-ass, starting with (just an example) kicking the ass of that gypsy (pardon: traveller) blackmailing asshole. It would definitely appeal to the Tarantino generation. And although I don't qualify in that category myself, I wouldn't mind some action at all.

But nothing like that happens. I mean, he does get weirder and weirder and acts increasingly more irrational (you see, he's still in love), so "fucking mental" hardly qualifies for his state of mind. I think pathetic is much more appropriate.

It's written decently, but it's simply not my cup of tea, I'm afraid. It just drags on and on for ages. To be a bit mean, I would call it "Postman Always Rings Twice for the old people".

2/5

Facts:

Hero:
Jack Stone, a sixty-year-old movie writer

Location:
UK countryside south of London on the farm called Sheepheaven (which btw is a really cool name, isn't it?)

Body count: 

1

Dames:
Robbie's Wife Maggie

Blackouts: 
After the whole ordeal of murder, having his car stolen and being humiliated and extorted by the gipsy, Jack drives back to London and starts drinking heavily in his little hotel room. He then finally passes out, which, after all this shit and also considering his not-so-tender age, is of course totally understandable. 

Title: 
Couldn't be more direct or appropriate except for maybe choosing simply "Maggie"

Cover:
Maggie standing in the doorway. Which is a sort of a leitmotif, as there are numerous occasions of her in that position (though none that I can remember of when she's dressed so sexy). Decent illustration, credited to R.B. Farrell.

Cool lines: 
He switched off the tape recorder. "You've been charged, Jack. You might want to learn the rules for cricket."

Total Khéops aka Total Chaos (Jean-Claude Izzo, 1995)

Bad stuff just keeps happening to the police inspector Fabio Montale: his old friend Ugo was killed after avenging the death of their mutual friend Manu, Fabio's platonic love Leila was brutally raped and killed, and his not-so-platonic love Marie-Lou was beaten savagely by her asshole pimp. During the routine day, our hero also needs to deal with a punk dealer who beat his girlfriend's gay brother. Plus other shit, lots of other shit.

Strangely enough, with his hands full of work, Fabio doesn't really seem to be too eager to get his shit together and to start some proper investigation. He leaves that to his investigating journalist friend and lover, Babette(!), and even to one of the mafia's retired big bosses(!?!). He himself spends most of the time whining about his mid-life crisis, giving us guided tours of Marseilles, sharing some pretty lame philosophy ('ala That's what love is, the possibility of losing) and more than just a few cooking recipes.

Eventually, all the above events turn out to be related. Even more, they trigger the gangster war between the Marseilles mafia and the Camorra from Naples. Total chaos? Definitely! At the end of this thing, even our main protagonist himself is so confused that he freely admits that "I couldn't really make heads or tails of it all."

I didn't get some of it, too, to be honest, but still liked it a lot. Especially the first half is a total page-turner. Although it is bleak and at times a bit depressing, it's full of life and genuine emotions. Melancholy, nostalgia, sadness, broken relationships, and lost friendships - these elements give the novel a unique and personal tone, which is why I didn't mind that the story itself was neglected and not very coherent. At first, I didn't mind it, but as it went on, the repetitive digressions (women, food, art, history, politics, etc.) became quite annoying and even irritating. I'm not saying that it's bad writing because it's actually brilliant. Sub-plots are fluent and develop nicely, but the pace is too slow. At least it was to my liking.

Also, I didn't like Fabio's character very much. 20+ years of service and the hard life in the army and on the streets should have made him tougher (he actually cries at least a couple of times for fuck's sake!) and especially more cynical. There's practically zero humour in this one, and most dialogues are unbelievably corny, even Seagal would be embarrassed by some of the one-liners. Check this one for an example:

"What's the connection?"
"That's what I'm wondering."
"Do you believe in coincidence?"
"I don't believe in anything."

Huh?

But on the other hand, strictly speaking, Fabio is not exactly our main protagonist here. This honour rather goes to the city of Marseille. The author is obsessed with this melting pot of cultures and writes about its (mostly) miserable inhabitants with lots of respect and affection. Which is great, but what bothered me was this relentless naming of every single fucking street where our hero happens to be. It must be really cool reading this if you know the city, but for me, it was just one more distraction.

But despite everything, it's original stuff. Passionate. And I bought the second one of the trilogy even before finishing this one.

4/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Fabio Montale, a cop

Location:
Marseilles. Where cops are playing cowboys. Shoot to kill: that was their basic rule. They followed the General Custer principle that only good Indian was a dead Indian. And in Marseilles, everyone - or almost everyone - was an Indian.

Body count: 
8 proper corpses + 8 "soldiers" in the gangster war + Fabio's cop partner who dies in the unrelated case (when chasing a Mercedes full of gypsies).

Dames:
What cards did I have left? Four queens. Babette: friendship found. Leila: a missed opportunity. Marie-Lou: a promise given. Lole: lost but still awaited. Clubs, spades, diamonds, hearts.

Of four of them, I liked Marie-Lou the most I think. "Young West Indian hooker.... A real looker. Like Diana Ross at the age of twenty-two."

Blackouts: 
Yes, two of them. Both pretty unoriginal: first time he gets beaten to the pulp by the bad guys warning him to stay off the case, and second time he faints out of exhaustion after punching a cop. None of them is described particularly vividly, simply "then everything went black" and "after that, it seems, I fainted".
 

Title: 
Refers to either the city of Marseilles or to the inconsistent plot. Also, a song with this title by some hip hop band was mentioned, but all I can remember is that their name was an acronym. Any ideas?

Cover:
Nice retouched picture of (yes, you've guessed it!) Marseille with appropriate choice of the background colour (see body count section above), Credited to Emanuele Ragnisco.

Cool lines: 
He started to beg. I'd lost all sympathy for him. He disgusted me. I couldn't even stand the thought of slapping him.

Scratch One (Michael Chrichton writing as John Lange, 1967)

Another case of the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mistaken identity crossover with espionage with lots of romance this time, but - unlike the highly original and enjoyable 3 to Kill - this one is very formulaic, predictable and simply boring.

The story is trivial but still full of holes and nonsense. Our hero, jetset kind of lawyer, gets mistakenly sucked into a sinister plot involving a 30 million dollar arms shipment and the killing of a bunch of secret agents and arms dealers. One of them is a Formula 1 driver, and his demise is planned to take place during the Monaco race by sniper blasting one of his tyres (!?!?). This ingenious plan is masterminded by a secret group of various dubious intellectuals who call themselves Associates.

It's pretty messy, so it's no wonder that our hero, on pg. 64 already, is "still more confused than he was at the start" because as he rightly concludes "it just doesn't make sense". Fifty pages later, when he receives a severed finger, he finally realises that "he had to do something" and calls the American embassy. But still, up to this point, Scratch One is amusing in its silliness and its humorous (kind of) style. But then everything changes when Roger meets mysterious, beautiful, sensitive and intelligent Anne.

Obviously, they fall in love, and the story spends 20 pages detailing their lunch and museum visit. At this point, the whole thing really starts to fall apart, and I realised that it's gonna be pretty shitty reading from that point on. It simply seems that the author gave up on the plot altogether. Later on there's another painful section of them having a picnic and buying some villa (once again 20 pages) followed by brief description of Brauer killing the real hit man. There is a short glimpse of hope when two stories meet, but it soon turns out that this big twist is just (another) far-fetched coincidence.

Pretty silly indeed, but I did enjoy a couple of things. The first one is the gang leader's character, Dr Liseau. He's a delightful gentleman/sadist kind of an asshole (Ether, my friend. Injected intravenously, it is quite amusing). Just loved that scene where he gives some poor schmuck a thorough physical examination before he starts torturing him to make sure his heart is strong enough to endure the pain! What a sick fuck, right?! I wonder whether he had ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath. Btw, his number one henchman, Brauer, is also pretty cool and a bit insane, but he's criminally underused.

The grand finale, featuring the aforementioned assassination plot, is simply hilarious. Our hero becomes a decoy for police because, you see, after spending three (3!) days in Dr Liseau's villa, he knows him better than anyone. Even though cops have been after him for years, have all kinds of surveillance photos and shit like that. So here comes the hilarious part: cops give our hero a whistle to blow in case he spots him! No guns, no wire, a fucking whistle to blow in the middle of the crowd attending the Formula 1 race. Almost pissed myself laughing.

Silly stuff, and not even silly in a funny way.

2/5

Facts:

Hero:
Roger Carr, a lawyer

Location:
French Riviera - "A very rich area, and a gambling area. That is a rare and unbeatable combination." Which is of course bullshit, rich people and gambling go together hand in hand.

Body count: 
13 (not counting 2 dead and 3 badly injured on the plane blown up by the planted bomb)

Dames:
Anne, Anne and once again Anne.

Blackouts: 
Well, he's not supposed to be a tough guy, so we can forgive him for passing out three times! And I'm not even counting the occasion when he is sedated adequately by the good doctor to fix his broken nose. Also, it's worth noting that the last one is pretty idiotic because he loses his conscience after the fight.

Title: 
After the mistaken identity fuck up, Carr becomes "a perfect decoy to divert them while they shipped a new man onto the scene." Which is, of course, a suicidal mission that one French cop comments briefly by "Scratch one American". And btw - that same asshole suggests Carr to simply "act naturally"!

Cover: 
By Glen Orbik. I guess it is an illustration of Anne in the scene when Roger meets her for the first time on the beach while she's sunbathing. It's okay, but it could have been a bit more sexy. I included another cover that's cool, too and better reflects the novel's tone.

Cool lines:  
"Dry vermouth on the rocks." It was an interesting choice of drink, he thought - alcoholic, but weak. It fitted a man whose business was killing.

He moved well for a big man, his grace was swift, controlled, and his strength was deadly.

A handsome devil, he thought, if you liked them mean. 
He would be a great success with ladies who preferred their sex swift and brutal. And he dressed well, In a sort of English way. 

"The gun is now in my pocket," Brauer said. "Do not speak to our friend [policeman] up there. I would not like to ruin my suit, or his."

"What's that?" he said.
"A gun."
He stared stupidly, wondering where it came from. After all, she wasn't wearing anything. Christ, he thought, I must be drunk.
"Does it work?"
"Bien sur."
He nodded. It figured: she didn't look like a girl who would fool with a rod that didn't work. 

He regarded him in a detached way, as if he were a prospect buyer for a product of dubious usefulness.[The Coolest!]